User blog comment:Brigadier Barty/Redwall Wars: A Deadly Turn/@comment-2246928-20150429212034/@comment-2246928-20150603232050

Virago's whip lowered ever so slightly, as did her ears as, grin gone, the weasel brought her face close to the squirrel's, her voice a soft, dangerous hiss as hot, foul breath blew upon his bony face. "Not if I beat yew t' deat' ferst, slave." Stepping back once more, she paused, staring at the squirrel as a red-hot rage slowly built up inside her chest, causing her whip paw to quiver ever so slightly. Or was that fear? She couldn't tell the difference anymore.

She went the whip slashing across the squirrel's back.